


piece by piece (you put me together)

by Nakimochiku



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Gender or Sex Swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-07-24 01:45:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 10,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7488492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nakimochiku/pseuds/Nakimochiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small, ever growing collection of drabbles gathered from tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black Swan

**Author's Note:**

> SOMEONE (Kolminye) forced me to gather my tumblr drabble so go thank her for that.

“Daddy.” Alex looks up, even though Theo hasn’t called him (He is always Alex. She has known him five years, and she has firmly promised he will always be Alex, in the same breath that she assured him primly that she does love him.) Aaron hums softly and slices bananas into the blender, cutting away the bruises, no matter how often Alex insists that in the grand scheme of things, it won’t make a difference because the fruit will be all blended together. “I think I’m going to have to quit ballet soon.”

Aaron looks up sharply. “What for? You love ballet! Have you decided after all that you’d rather focus on the cello? Or your language studies? Or is girl scouts–”

“Aaron.” Alex cuts in, bowled over as always by the sheer number of extracurriculars Aaron has his daughter enrolled in; Phillip is only in soccer, he learns piano from his mother, their greatest delight is listening to their children play horrible duets on their instruments of choice. “Let her talk.”

“No. I still love ballet. But the teacher said I’ll be hitting puberty soon.” Both men make a strange choked noise, and Theo keeps speaking as though she doesn’t hear it. “And when I do, I’ll probably have really big boobs or a big butt, and I won’t look so good as a ballerina anymore.”

Alex’s jaw drops. “I’m sorry, she told you what? Word for word, what did she say?”

Theo’s brow puckers, and she plays with a single twist, (Alex did them for her, he’s only just learning to do her hair in something other than bubbles, because Aaron’s been in the office more and more lately) twirling it around her finger as she thinks. She looks just like her father when she makes that face, trying to be exact, measuring her words. “She said girls like me tend to have large busts and wide hips, and ballerinas are meant to be very small and dainty, so once I do hit puberty and my body starts to change, I shouldn’t look forward to many lead roles, because I won’t have the right look.”

“I can’t believe she said that.” Alex whispers, and glances at Aaron who looks livid. If he wasn’t also furious, he’d laugh. Aaron is the most placid person Alex has ever known, even next to Eliza. He’s slow to anger, patient to a fault, capable of turning the other cheek no matter the offence. Except, of course, where it concerns his daughter. Aaron would kill for her. Aaron would go to war for her, take on the legions of hell for her, brave PTA meetings for her. Aaron’s going to rip this ballet teacher apart and Alex isn’t sure if he wants to take a turn too, or just let Aaron have at it. “That little–”

“Language, Alexander.”

“I can’t believe she said that.”

“She did! I’m not lying!” Theo assures.

“Oh I believe you sweetheart,” Alex smiles. “I know you’re just being honest. I’m just… flabbergasted.” Theo giggles at the funny word.

“Theo.” Aaron starts coolly, turning back to chopping fruits for their smoothies. “Do you still want to do ballet? Do you love it no matter what?”

“Of course.” Theo says decisively. “It’s just that I–”

“Theo, there is nothing wrong with your body, and there’s never going to be anything wrong with your body. What your teacher said is incorrect. You will always make a beautiful ballerina.” Aaron says, firmly with iron in his voice. He sets the knife aside and moves to her, takes her little hands in his. Alex imagines his eyes are soft and liquid, the way they are when he sings her lullabies or reads to her or watches her play video games. He loves this side of Aaron, loves seeing him care about his daughter. “We’re going to find you a different teacher. A better one.”

Later, they are in the kitchen, slurping smoothies, speaking in hushed voices while Theo practices the cello in the living room. “Girls like her.” Alex repeats, all venom while Aaron slurps and broods in turns. “Girls like her, the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it’s supposed to mean.” Aaron murmurs.

“But it’s so blatant. What kind of self respecting adult looks at a little girl and tells her she can’t do something because she’s what? Black? Because of some stereotype of black female body types? I know I shouldn’t even be surprised but holy shit I’m so fucking angry! It’s not like body image isn’t enough of an issue for dancers, that woman had to plop her steaming pile of racist shit on top?” Alex pauses his rant and sets his cup aside, then takes Aaron’s before he can start chewing his straw. “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna pull her out of that class, for one thing, and then tear that teacher apart in a very strongly worded letter.”

“You go baby, I’ll hold your smoothie.” Alex chuckles, before he sobers again and leans a little closer, pressing their hips together. He wants to be something stable, something certain before Aaron can get lost in his head. “But I meant about Theo. What are you gonna tell her? Are you gonna explain?”

Aaron makes a stressed noise. “I don’t want to. I don’t want her to know that there’s a reason she doesn’t make a pretty ballerina to other people. I don’t want her to think there’s anything wrong.”

“She’s gonna find out. Something is gonna tip her off, she’s clever. She’s like her father that way.” Alex smiles but Aaron only hums thoughtfully. “You could explain to her, let her know what’s what before she internalizes it.”

“I don’t have the words to explain.” Aaron slumps back against the counter, pulling Alex with him, gazing at the ceiling like he’s praying for some merciful god to drop the answer in his lap (though they both know very well that it never happens quite like that, they’ve both always fought to find their own way with or without God’s help).

“You did just fine, just now. It’s messages like that that’ll matter to her. It’s what you tell her right now that she’ll remember no matter what anyone says to her in the future.”

“And what the hell do I say? That she’ll always be the prettiest ballerina to me?” Alex shrugs, presses a kiss to the furrow of Aaron’s brow. “I wish this wasn’t so hard.”

“Well you know. Having them was easy, raising them’s harder.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mini Uni Sick Fic?

“It would probably be better if you just went straight to sleep.” Aaron comments blandly when Alex gets out of the shower, scrolling through netflix and arbitrarily adding movies to his list. Alex leans between his legs against his belly, hair damp and loose, sticking to the back of his neck, skin far too hot and feverish.

“I can’t just sleep, this essay is literally due tomorrow and I still have to edit it.” He peers briefly over Aaron’s screen and adds, “Make sure to watch that movie I was telling you about.”

“Which one? You’re always telling me about movies.”

“Belle. The one about the half black girl in eighteenth century England. It’s on there somewhere. You’ll like it, it’ll stroke your history boner.” Alex settles firmly back between Aaron’s legs and taps away at his laptop, fingers moving like lightning over his keyboard, pausing only to close readings as he goes. He’s been sick for two days, alternating between writing his term papers and throwing up, while Aaron pets his back and pours gatorade down his throat. Aaron starts up the movie, wishing in all honesty Alex would just take a break, take some Nyquil without fighting him on it and drink all his ginger tea without complaining about it.

They sit in silence for half an hour before Alex whines, flopping back heavily and nearly closing Aaron’s laptop on his fingers. “My hair is driving me crazy.” He turns to look at Aaron pathetically, just his raised brows and big pleading black eyes visible around the edge of his laptop.

“Then tie it up.” Aaron answers without sympathy.

Alex just whines at him louder. “No, play in it. Braid it back or something I don’t care.”

“You’re so needy.” Aaron grumbles. He sets his laptop off to the side and bends over the edge of the bed for a hairbrush he distinctly remembers Alex tossing there. He lets the movie play, only listening with half an ear as he runs the brush through. Its soothing to brush Alex’s hair, turning it soft and silky beneath his fingers. Its almost stress relieving. He also has term papers to write, but he’s not like Alex, he can’t write non-stop. His brain was ready to explode, the stress had been eating at him. So yes, this is nice, brushing Alex’s hair, watching a movie, listening to Alex mumble sleepily as he types.

He divides the hair, plaits it neatly into two dutch braids and ties them off with elastics he keeps on his wrist in case Alex needs one. “You’re gonna have ringlets when you take your hair out.” Aaron warns, leaning back against the headboard and stroking Alex’s head idly.

Alex shrugs and wheezes a pathetic cough. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

“Go to bed.”

Alex hums and turns over on Aaron, chin digging into his sternum. “Will you edit my paper for me?”

“You hate when I edit your papers.”

“Yeah, but I’m dizzy and I’m not really sure this is English anymore. If you edit it, I’ll go to bed. Win-win.”

“You’re honestly so needy.” Alex shrugs and wriggles his way up Aaron’s chest, tucking his head beneath his chin. He’s sweaty and warm, and its disgusting, but Aaron just sighs and takes his laptop, skimming through the paper while Alex snuffles and wheezes and eventually falls asleep. Aaron presses a kiss to his sweaty forehead and keeps reading.


	3. Unforgettable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (you know that vid of LOJ singing unforgettable? yeah, this goes with that)

Alex sighs fondly, leaning heavily against the kitchen table. He’s pretty sure his eyes are damp and sparkling, but he can’t help it. He loves the butter smooth roll of Aaron’s voice, the cadence of it, his half closed eyes as he sings, rolling the lyrics as thoughtfully as he rolls everything he says, so that every note is meaningful. His breath catches when Aaron looks directly at him, crooning, “unforgettable, that’s what you are.”

It’s not fair to hear him sing those lyrics in that open adoring voice. Because he knows Aaron means it, every time he says with unabashed awe “you astound me,” or “you’re too much for me, Alexander,” or “I just can’t compete.” Like he’s fascinated, blown over and so in love, even when he doesn’t say it quite so often.

“That’s why, darling, it’s incredible that someone so so unforgettable thinks that i am unforgettable too.”

And yeah, that’s unfair too, because Aaron Burr is grace, beauty, decadence. He’s mysterious and suave and Alex is just as in love with him, and his caramel voice, his secretive smile, the way he blinks and looks away when he finishes singing.

It’s unfair because together they are unforgettable.


	4. Fever When You Kiss Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uni au that goes with Chap 2

“Oh my god.” Alex groans flopping back against the sofa in dramatic anguish. “Idris Elba is too freaking hot.” Aaron hums his agreement and nudges Alex’s errant elbow out of his ribs. “I mean, look at him. Those eyes. His lips. His skin. Even his beard, how does some one have a sexy beard?”

“His skin?” Aaron repeats, something foreign, nameless and not at all pleasant knotting in his belly.

“Sure, he’s hashtag team darkskin, and it’s literally so nice. Don’t get me wrong, lightskin dudes are hot too, everyone goes for Shemar Moore, but Idris Elba is just on another level.” Alex turns to him, and pauses when he catches a glimpse of Aaron’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Well then, it’s stupid, don’t worry.”

“We’ve talked about this. If it concerns you, it concerns me. So what’s wrong?”

Aaron rolls his eyes heavenward, and wishes he had controlled his face better, so they wouldn’t be forced to have this conversation. But now that Alex has grasped it he’s a dog with a bone, and he won’t let it go, not until Aaron just spits it out. “I was wondering if you like that I’m black.”

He expects Alex to laugh at him, to maybe pretend not to understand exactly what Aaron means, but instead his brow furrows and his eyes narrow. “Have I ever said or done anything to imply some kind of jungle fever or something?”

“No.” Aaron breathes, relieved. “That’s why it was stupid so–”

“It’s not stupid, it’s a legitimate concern. You have a right to ask whether my feelings for you are genuine and not some weird racial fetish.” Aaron smiles at him, and doesn’t say that Alex’s earnest assurances are how he knows his feelings are genuine; he shouldn’t have been concerned. “I’ve dated people of many different ethnicities, okay, and I’m not gonna say it doesn’t matter to me, because it does. So do I like that you’re black?” Alex shrugs and smiles helplessly. “Yeah. But it’s not what I like about you, full stop. It’s just one of the many facets of you.”

“Right.” Aaron agrees. He moves to accommodate Alex when he leans over him, pushing him back into the sofa cushions and straddling his legs. “I know that, I told you it was stupid.”

“You and I both know if I don’t push, you don’t say anything, and then you end up over analyzing everything and bottling it up until we fight about something stupid and it explodes. So yeah. Forgive me for wanting to nip that in the bud.” Alex leans up, presses a kiss to his jaw, grazing the delicate skin there with his teeth. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the colour of your skin.”

“Alex.” Aaron sighs with fond exasperation.

“No, you need to hear this. I like the way colours look on you, especially light greens and purples. I’m thinking of buying bed sheets in every colour known to man, just to see you spread against them.”

“Alex.” His voice dips a little lower, heat flooding his veins while Alex dots his face with fond kisses, across the corners of his mouth, his eyelids, his cheeks, until Aaron holds him still to kiss him properly.

“And I love the way I have to suck extra hard to make sure my marks stay, because you moan the whole way through it.” He murmurs against his lips when he pulls away. His voice sounds just as rough, deep, he can feel his words rumbling through his skin.

“Alex, please.” But Aaron doesn’t know if he’s asking him to stop or plough ahead the way he always does.

“And I love that even though I can’t see it, I always know when you’re blushing, because you make this awkward shape with your mouth and look away.” He presses their foreheads together, and Aaron tries to slow the quickened stutter of his breathing, tries to lean up to catch his mouth again, makes an unhappy noise when Alex pulls away. Alex’s eyes are big and dark. “So yeah. I love your skin. And a million other things about you.”

“That’s fantastic.” Aaron says roughly. “Now finish what you started.” Alex smirks, and instead of answering, devours his mouth again.


	5. "I spent my last bit of money on coffee that i just spilled and you're watching me cry" au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uni Au, but different Universe from the other two

Push through it, Aaron tells himself. Push through it, only eight more hours, only four more papers to hand in. Only eight hours and then he’s going to fucking graduate. Only eight more hours and he’s going to be done school forever. At least until law school. Eight more hours and he can sleep.

He doesn’t feel human anymore. He is made of words too big to fit in his mouth or spell correctly on the first try. He is the amendments to the constitution, the legal code, the perfected art of bullshit and latin terms that he doesn’t know how to pronounce when he’s this tired and won’t be relevant for the rest of his life. He’s been like this for days, he’s written his exams on less than four hours sleep put together, and if he wasn’t so confident in himself he’d be certain he’s screwed.

Aaron drags himself to the Starbucks on campus. His shirt is wrinkled; he couldn’t be bothered to iron it. He forgot to bring a sweater, even though it’s spring the school already has the AC cranked all the way up. He barely has five bucks to his name, and all he needs is a fucking coffee.

Push through it, he reminds himself as he joins the ridiculously long post lecture queue. Everyone looks like him, worn ragged, at the end of their rope. Aaron’s eyes blur when he tries to scan the menu. He sways a little on his feet, fingers tight on his satchel. Push through it.

He orders his coffee and waits at the other end of the counter for it, fairly jittering with the remnants of his five hour energy shot and the strange giddiness that overcomes the truly weary. The barista calls out his coffee order and Aaron takes it with shaking fingers and real gratitude when he thanks her, heading outside to maybe catch a nap in the library.

“Burr! Aaron Burr!” The cheerful voice comes after the hand that jostles his shoulder. “Did you manage to finish– Uh oh.”

Aaron looks at his coffee, sad, splashed down his front, the white and green paper cup turning brown in the puddle on the concrete. Then he looks at Alexander Hamilton, eternal scourge of his existence. Alexander, who looks chipper, hair freshly washed, eye bags only slightly more pronounced than usual, but otherwise damnably put together. He has laughter in his dark eyes when he looks Aaron up and down, gaze settling on his stained shirt.

“Sorry about that, I didn’t know you were holding anything, it wasn’t too hot was it?”

Aaron sort of wants to sink to the pavement and give in. Just eight more hours, just a little more push, just one fucking cup of coffee and he could have made it. “Even in our final moments together you manage to ruin my life.”

“Aren’t you over exaggerating? It was just a cup of coffee.” Alex drawls. “I’ll buy you another, even–”

“It was not just a cup of coffee, it was my last cup of coffee!”

“Are you crying–”

“In eight more hours and two more classes I was going to be free of this place, free of you–”

“You know we’re going to the same law school, right?”

“And all I needed was one last cup of coffee to make it! One last damned cup of coffee, and you ruined it! That was the last of my allowance, I haven’t slept in three days. I can barely think straight–”

“Welcome to my life, Aaron Burr, better stock up on melatonin for when the insomnia hits.”

“I’m not you, Alexander. I don’t do this, this stress, this – non-stop go until I have a melt down in the fucking street borderline suicidal–”

“I won’t deny the rest, but I’ve never had public meltdowns.”

“I just wanted my fucking coffee!” Aaron breathes hard and feels just this side of manic. He startles when Alexander’s fingers press to his heated cheeks, thumbing away the tears there. He hadn’t realized he was actually crying. He scrubs at his eyes, his eyelids feel like sandpaper when he blinks and the crying didn’t help. Alexander catches his hands and pulls them away before he can rub his eyes to irritation with the kind of sound someone uses to chide a child. It’s embarrassing.

“Right. Better?” Alexander asks after a moment of just standing there in the street with Aaron’s hands in his as though he didn’t just have a breakdown on him. Aaron clenches his jaw and nods stiffly. “You like espresso?”

“Never had it.” he says, sucking in air through his mouth to stop the ragged tremor of his voice where his throat is still choked up.

“You’ll love it. Plenty of caffeine.” Alex assures. “Then you’re gonna come back to my place because I live on campus, power nap, and I’ll wake you up in time for your one o’clock seminar with a borrowed shirt, right?”

Aaron sucks in another deep breath and makes himself nod. “Thank you. You don’t have to.” he manages.

“What’re friends for?” Alex beams. “After all, we’re gonna be seeing a lot of each other next year.”

Aaron makes himself smile, finds the thought of another year with Alexander Hamilton less dreadful than he expects, and reminds himself, push through it.


	6. 15 minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> canonverse.

“You can sleep, you know.” Hamilton says, seamlessly flipping over a page to keep writing. Burr jerks his hand from his mouth where he’d been covering a jaw cracking yawn, snapping it shut with an audible click of teeth. “Go home.”

“Take your own advice, sir.” Burr replies, and reaches for Hamilton’s pile of notes, scanning them over even as his eyes blink near owlishly at the writings as though they aren’t quite English.

Hamilton pauses, considers Burr’s exhausted gaze, the rumple of his cravat, the crumpled roll of his shirtsleeves at his elbows, revealing his forearms to the glow of the low lamplight. Prior to this case together, Hamilton used to note Burr locking up his office in the early evening to be home in time for supper. Now they sit together late into the night, building their case, framing every note and argument. Now, Burr never leaves before Hamilton himself is ready.

Burr glances up at him, brow furrowing a little in question when he catches him looking. Hamilton doesn’t look away, watching instead the confused expression play across his face, the clear signs of weariness. “Go home.” He repeats. “I can finish up here. I won’t be much longer." 

"If I was paid every time I heard you say that, my creditors would have no more reason to call on me.” Burr snorts. He draws himself up straight in the chair, pulling his shoulders back from their tired hunch. He has clear dark eyes, they look like bottomless wells with only a spark of light where flame catches in them, and they manage to look wakeful even where the rest of him does not. Burr’s eyes have always seemed quick and alive and watchful like a cat’s. “And besides. I’ve never given anyone reason to question my work ethic. I won’t start now.”

Hamilton smiles, showing teeth, raspy chuckle ripped from him. Burr sniffs haughtily in response. “My dearest Burr. No one would be foolish enough to question that. You are weary, and we have had a long day. If you will not go home, rest.” He gestures at a fairly comfortable chaise he himself uses when it’s too exceptionally late to go home. Burr glances at it near longingly, mouth pinched tight before he looks back at Hamilton, eyes narrowed. “Take a short break, and we can finish after.” He waits with raised brows while Burr contemplates, watching the flick of expressions across his face.

“Fifteen minutes.” He grants at last. He stands and shrugs the rest of the way out of his waist coat that has come increasingly undone over the course of the evening one button at a time, tossing it over the back of the chair.

“Sounds fair.” Hamilton smiles. His eyes drag over his form just a little too slow, the wrinkles in his breeches where they were pulled taut across his hips, the dark triangle of skin he bares when he unbuttons the top of his shirt. He watches him move to the chaise and settle on it, arms crossed and a little grumpy. 

“Fifteen minutes, Hamilton, and then we can pare your closing statements. Again.”

“Fifteen minutes.” Hamilton agrees.

He does not wake Burr in fifteen minutes. He indulges himself and watches him; chin tucked against his chest, fingers curling in his cotton shirt sleeves, the shadow of his eyelashes and the sharp line of his jaw while he breathes softly though his nose. Hamilton wonders at him. 

He’s always liked Burr well enough, despite everything. But working with him has given him the opportunity to see different sides of him between the glass smooth facade of a savage and succinct lawyer in court. He sees a man who thrives on competition, who swings his daughter up into the air when she visits at the office, who offers Hamilton some of his over stuffed lunch when he drags him away from his writings with a small inviting smile. There is depth there, Hamilton thinks, when he’s allowed to explore it, like shadowed underground lakes.

There is depth even here, watching Burr shift, sigh and settle again, lips parted and cheek comically mashed against the side of the chaise. There is depth even here; Burr stays every night, Burr runs himself ragged beside Hamilton out of pride, out of pettiness. Hamilton smiles again; he feels as though he’s peered beneath the curtain and revealed something Burr never wanted him to find, just watching him sleep.

“Burr.” He says, snapping him awake. Burr blinks at him, jerking his head up, the ribbing of the cushion imprinted on his cheek.

“Time’s’it?”

“Time to go home. Come on.” Hamilton gathers his papers and shoves them under his arm, tossing Burr’s waist coat at him. He fumbles at it sleepily, gives up and slings it over his arm.

“We didn’t pare your closing statements.” he squints at the clock. “It’s barely midnight.”

“We can do it tomorrow.” He wraps his free arm over Burr’s shoulder, ushering him from the office. “It’s late and I’m tired.”

“You’re never tired.” Burr mutters.

“Tonight I am.” he pats Burr’s back, lets his hand slide lower. His skin is warm through his shirt without the thick wool of his coat in between them. “I’m taking my own advice sir, just like you said.” Burr rolls his eyes, mumbles a reply and plods steadily beside him without shrugging his hand away. “Let’s go home.”


	7. when the sun met the stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prequel to Black Swan. like, five years before then. same domestic universe. (Theo's like.... seven?)

Aaron is letting him spend the day with Theo, baby sitting while he has a couple early morning meetings to attend. Alex gulps when Aaron buzzes him up and has never been so nervous meeting a seven year old in his life. He wonders if he should bring her flowers, a pony even, anything to make a good impression with a little girl her own father describes as precocious.

Aaron answers the door, a piece of cantaloupe in his mouth, jacket half on, saying “be nice to Alexander,” around his mouthful. He pauses only to press a quick kiss to Alex’s lips, leaving a damp smear of cantaloupe juice, the floral scent of his aftershave, and he’s gone.

Theo stands in the doorway. She has her father’s eyes, Alex notes, they are deep, mysterious, discerning, and narrowed at him in contempt. Alex fears he’s doomed to bad first impressions with the entire Burr lineage. “A pleasure to meet you, Theo.” Alex says, and holds his hand out for a shake. She takes it.

“Here are the rules of engagement, Alexander.” Theo says, tipping her chin up the same way her father does. She has a lisp from missing her two front teeth. Alex bites back a smile, because yes, she’s precocious, the type of girl labeled too clever by half. But he thinks it’s charming. And anyway, she wouldn’t appreciate it if she thought he was laughing at her. “If you want Daddy to like you, i have to like you. One word from me and–” she draws her finger dramatically across her neck.

“Right.” Alex nods severely. “So what do i have to do to get in your good graces?”

“Right now, me liking you is dependent on heart shaped pancakes with whip cream and strawberries.”

Alex barks a surprised laugh. “You’re not trying to trick me into doing something that will get me in trouble are you?”

Theo fixes him with a venomous look, as though wondering why he would even suggest it. “No.” She answers coolly. “We have pancakes every saturday. But Daddy didn’t have time today. And you came.”

“Alright, wanna help?” Alex steps inside the apartment and locks the door after him, tossing his laptop bag down on the sofa as his wanders deeper into the home. There’s a barbie doll on the coffee table, cartoons playing on the tv. Theo moves into the kitchen, the beads at the end of her braids clinking imperiously with every step. She clambers up onto the counter to get ingredients, rifling in the cupboard. “Please don’t fall.”

“Get the strawberries.” Theo says, and then drawls, “please.” She finds the pancake mix and clambers back down. “First of all.” She begins, finding a cute little apron and tossing Alex one of his own, “there are a couple things you need to know about daddy.”

Alex rinses the strawberries and hums, paring the stems. He’s curious as to what insight Aaron’s daughter will have on him. “Yeah, like what?”

“Daddy loves peanut butter cookies, he can eat a whole case by himself. But our family has a history of diabetes, heart disease and stroke, so you can’t let him have too many.” Theo clumsily measures out pancake mix, knocking flour across the counter. “And he pretends to like boring old people stuff like the news, but actually he likes to watch cartoons. He falls asleep in church all the time. He can’t go to bed until he has a cup of chamomile tea. When hes upset he listens to old people music like opera, but mostly he really likes pop music. He sings in the shower.”

Alex snorts softly. He digs around until he finds a pan while Theo splashes milk into her mixing bowl, stirring at it with a whisk. “Butter or oil?”

Theo tosses him another poisonous look. “Butter.” She orders. She’s quiet a moment as she whips her pancake mix. Alex sets the pan on the stove and forks butter into it. They pour the mix in, but the hearts are mishappen at best. “I think… Daddy still misses Mommy.” She admits softly. “He tells me about her sometimes, and gets sad.” Alex hums. Hearing insight about Aaron from his daughter is less amusing now. But that clearly isn’t the correct response because Theo rounds on him, face hard. “I don’t want you here you know.”

“Your dad said you wanted to meet me. That you invited me.”

Theo gives him a withering look. “He wants me to like you, but i don’t want you here. I wish daddy hadn’t met you. But he’s happier than when it was just me and him and–” the hard mask of her face slips and crumples, tears welling from underneath her clenched eyelids. “Nevermind.” She hisses.

“Hey hey hey. I can promise you two things, alright? I’m not taking your dad anywhere. And no matter what, there’s never gonna be anyone in this world he loves more than you.” Theo hiccups and scrubs at her face with a determined little nod.

“That was embarrassing. Let’s watch Mulan.” They take their plates out to the living room, and make themselves comfortable, Theo humming along to the opening strains of the introduction. They make it all the way to the scene where Mulan’s true identity is revealed before she speaks again.

“One last thing. I’m allowing this because you make daddy happy.”

“Thank you–”

“But if you make daddy cry, i’ll make you cry, got it?”

Alex bites his lip and does his best to look frightened. “Got it.” Theodosia Burr is too precious for words.

Aaron comes home in the afternoon, casts a look around the apartment, and the tv screen where Mufasa Lay dead. He seems more surprised the apartment doesn’t look like a war zone. He asks, “How was it?” his tone deceptively casual. Alex glances at Theo who turns around on the sofa and pecks Aaron on both cheeks.

“Good. Alex is really fun. He can’t make heart pancakes to save his life though.” Aaron lets out a relieved laugh and swings Theo up into his arms. Over his shoulder Theo makes an i’m watching you gesture.

Alex is positive he and Theo are gonna get along just fine.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fem! Hamburr

There are parts of Aaron only Alex gets to see: Aaron in front of her vanity with a witch’s collection of hair products and potions, running a whole routine of oils and creams into her scalp, tying down her edges, brushing it all with careful consideration, braiding the ends to keep them soft. Alex likes some products better than others, wrinkling her noise at an ugly yellow lump of raw shea butter, or eagerly sniffing the air when Aaron rubs chocolate scented argan oil between her palms. 

Alex watches the whole ritual from the bed, head propped on a pile of pillows, hair smelling of morrocan oil Aaron brushed in with gentle affection. This is as much part of Aaron’s nightly routine as any other part. Aaron catches her eye in the mirror, tosses her a smile, tying a silk floral headscarf around her hair and gathering all her products back into their designated drawer. This is the Aaron no one else knows: over large t shirt from her high school phys ed class, fuzzy socks, bra off and makeup smudging and creasing around her eyes. She is soft and content, and she crawls up the bed to settle beside Alex, trailing the perfume of her hair products like a cloud.

“Getting bored of natural hair.” She mumbles thoughtfully, curling a lock of Alex’s hair around her finger. Her nail polish is chipped, skin around her cuticles raw where she’d anxiously picked it throughout the day. She will repaint the nail in the morning.

“You? bored? That’s too whimsical for you.” Alex giggles, and Aaron pushes her shoulder, tosses her leg over Alex’s. Her legs are smooth and freshly shaved, and Alex kisses her cheek. She doesn’t say she likes Aaron’s natural hair, She likes burying her fingers in her hair when she kisses her “What’ll you do next? Another weave? Braids?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” Aaron hums sleepily, eyes drifting shut and fluttering back open. This is for Alex alone: perfect Aaron Burr sleepy and soft and open the way she isn’t when she’s armored in business shoes and high heels and eyeliner. This is Aaron Burr unguarded, and something possessive and adoring swells in Alex’s chest and chokes her. She wants to keep Aaron in bed all day, wants to feel her sleep warm skin beneath her hands, forget about the outside world, wake up to her raccoon eyes when she’s forgotten to take her make up off, kiss her awake like sleeping beauty–

Alex rolls out of Aaron’s arms to toss her a makeup wipe, because she hates falling asleep in makeup and is half unconscious already. “You’re no fun. What if I don’t like surprises?”

“You love surprises. And you always say you love my hair no matter what I do with it.” She lazily scrubs what remains of her makeup after summer heat melted it away, lipstick and mascara smeared onto the wipe in a subtle purple and black around the dark brown of her foundation, like abstract art.

“Both of these statements are true.” Alex curls back around Aaron after she tosses the makeup wipe in the general direction of the wastebasket with a wide yawn. “But that’s because you’re beautiful, and you look good in everything you put on.”

Aaron snorts, breath warm on Alex’s collar, eyelashes like butterfly wings against her skin. “No matter how much you flatter me, you’re going to the party tomorrow.”

Alex whines, plays along with the joke, doesn’t say she meant it, means it, just clutches Aaron closer. This is the Aaron no one else knows, and Alex presses her nose to her crown and breathes in the scent of her lotion, her faded perfume, the clean lingering smell of the makeup wipe, and the witch’s collection of hair products. No one else knows this smell, and she’s so thankful Aaron shares herself with her. “Whatever you say, baby, go to sleep.”

Aaron yawns again, mumbles something unintelligible, and does as she says.


	9. the girl that you love (the girl that you loathe)

Aaron is a ghost. She passes from place to place unseen, unchecked, as blank and clear as a mirror or a lake. Her mascara is never clumpy. Her nail polish is never chipped. She is solitary and perfect as a single blossom of a dahlia, But no one picks her out of a crowd because she smiles and keeps her eyes down and never says anything at all. She is silent and opaque, impossible to hold onto.

She drives Alex crazy.

It helps of course, that Aaron always does better on essays, always does better during presentations. A girl like her should be soft spoken, shy. Aaron is neither of those things, really. She stands straight in front of crowds, neither cowed nor demure, has the kind of sweet smoky voice reserved for phone sex operators, always speaks concisely and when she does, cuts. Being unable to quantify her, to make her corporeal, a breathing human with thoughts and emotions, makes her a puzzle. She’s intentionally, deceptively feminine, she only wears pastels and skirts, delicate against her deep brown skin. Her legs in her sheer stockings draw the eye. Like a moth or the flashing coils of a snake, Alex supposes it’s meant to make her forgettable. For Alex, it does anything but.

Sometimes when Alex opens her mouth to speak, she sees those dark eyes flash, sees a snarl curling perfect lips, sees a sharp chin tip up haughtily from the corner or her eye, but when she turns to Aaron to catch her derision fully, the look is always gone, replaced with a mirror reflecting nothing at all.

Aaron is human when Alex has her over her desk, textbooks shoved to the floor, legs on either shoulder, pussy so wet under her tongue she moans at the taste. She can’t hide or slip through Alex’s fingers when she cants her hips up, fucking her cunt against Alex’s face, whining needy little noises, lipstick smeared around her mouth from all of Alex’s kisses. She has a body, skin cells, nerves endings, when she presses into the bite of Alex’s nails, begs for her mouth back on her clit, dark eyes watering and mouth running, telling her all the things she’ll do if Alex just lets her come. When she shudders and comes with a breathless gasp, a fresh flood of slick on Alex’s tongue, she knows she’s made Aaron human.

Aaron lays open then, the glass of her expression melted, to let Alex see beneath, see something vicious and scowling and clawing, hot as hell fire and so passionate Alex wants to put her tongue against it and taste that too. She wonders if Aaron knows rivals don’t actually eat each other out on the regular.

She doesn’t think it matters; when Aaron is with her, she isn’t a ghost.

* * *

Alex is a star. She burns and she implodes in every room she enters, loud and bright, dangerous and beautiful. She has her own gravitational pull. She spins and the universe follows. Everyone around her crowds in, crowds closer, wants to see and touch her, hold her for their own or else crush her in their fists. Either way, they find themselves burned. But not Aaron. Aaron refuses to be another asteroid in a revolving belt, a skirt to her star like Jupiter’s rings.

She drives Aaron crazy.

She is loud. She doesn’t have the new yorker drawl, but she has the new yorker fire. She spits Spanish, and it curls in the air like caramel, as sweet gold brown as her skin. She stands at the top as though it’s her rightful place, imperious and cocksure. She wears second hand sweaters and expensive perfume. She paints her lips red so everyone knows when she speaks she means to draw blood. She never knows what to do with her lion’s mane of black hair, so it curls around her face, makes her wild and fierce. She never knows when to stop talking.

Sometimes Aaron will catch Alex watching her with hunger like she wants to burn her alive, and it’s a struggle to keep her face straight, to exude calm sweetness when she hates Alex so much she can feel it crawling up her throat, boiling her blood, setting fire to her marrow. She wonders if Alex feels any of this, if Alex can guess.

Alex is her star only when Aaron kisses her, shoves Alex’s hand under her skirt to rub her clit against her pretty, delicate fingers with bitten nails. She is captive between Aaron’s cupped palms like a butterfly when Aaron gets her fingers in her, kisses her belly, tastes her own name on Alex’s lips. Fucks her harder, cunt so wet around her fingers it smears on Alex’s thighs, finds her sweet spot and whispers filthy things she can’t remember half of once Alex comes, but tasted bitterly of possession and want. She thinks she says half of the drivel she thinks when she looks at Alex and has her keening around her fingers, against her lips, like she cant stop any of it coming out.

Alex will look at her then, the last flare of hydrogen curling on itself warm and bright, a dying star cool enough for Aaron to hold. She is beautiful and she is wonderful and Aaron hates her for it. She hopes Alex knows she truly hates her, wants to squeeze her between her palms until she folds in on herself and becomes a black hole.

When Alex kisses her, she is her handheld star.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> like? epistolary canonverse?

My dearest friend and companion, **  
**

I worry for you ceaselessly. You take up my waking thoughts, and even then, you interrupt my dreams. I delight in these snatches of your presence even with you so far away, so that I keep and reread your affectionate letters, and imagine you penning them with great care, think of the warmth of your hand against the page, and feel that warmth against my own.

To know you think of me, my boy, as I do you, has brought me pleasure many times over. Every moment i am plagued with images of you lost, or hurt or trembling, I remember again your smile, your hands, and some other means to set you trembling. It goes around in a circle, until i once again receive news from your hand that you are whole and well, and casting me your affectionate thoughts.

Write me often, for i have no peace without your word, and desire no peace so long as I remain barred from you.

Yours Entirely,

Jona. Bellamy

Hamilton doesn’t mean to read them. Burr is out, and he’s just trying to deliver something, when the breeze blows a little too strong, the tent flaps snap loudly and the papers rip from beneath the inkwell burr was using as a paper weight. A letter in reply was pinned beneath, with only the words “Closest and Dearest Friend, your tender words warm me” written in Burr’s large and loopy hand at the top. Hamilton wonders how Burr could possibly reply to such a letter, without repeating fancies and longing and yearning…

That these are the kinds of letters he wishes he were writing to Burr is not the point. He wonders at this man’s writing, his sure hand, the ease with which he puts his affinity for burr to paper for him to read with those dark discerning eyes, possibly to receive nothing in return–

Except that’s not true is it, the letter says he replies affectionately–

“Hamilton?” Burr pushes aside the tent flap and stands there, canvas in one hand and mug of lukewarm water in the other. “Do you need something?” His eyes drop to the papers between Hamilton’s fingers, and his mouth goes tight and his eyes steely. If he doesn’t like the invasion of privacy, he doesn’t show it. Hamilton expects him to stride across the small space and snatch the letters from him, but he just lets the tent flap drop, shifts his weight and sips his water casually.

“Who is Bellamy?”

Burr takes another sip, “an old friend.”

Hamilton makes a low amused noise. “You two seem extremely close.” He waves the letters, lets his eyes skim the paper again, implies something with the curl of his mouth.

“We are.” Burr doesn’t raise to the bait, doesn’t demand Hamilton leave his space, and he wants to push until he does, until he gives.

“He calls you his boy.”

Suddenly Burr’s eyes are liquid, less guarded, and he looks away. Hamilton wonders if his cheeks are hot. “He does that.” He murmurs, shifting again, moving around the space to set his meticulously placed personal effects to rights, fingers tracing briefly over the package Hamilton had come to deliver. “He’s older.” He explains, when Hamilton makes another interested noise. “And he worries for me.”

“So that makes you his boy?” He presses. He wants to know. He can’t picture Burr accepting the moniker with no fuss, can’t picture Burr writing affectionately, except apparently there are parts of Burr he doesn’t know, parts of Burr that this Bellamy has seen tremble, has seen smile.

“Its not as sordid as you make it sound.” Burr sniffs, pulling his shoulders back. His fingers touch briefly over his own words of reply. “He just– i don’t have to explain this to you.”

Hamilton hums again, sets the letter down beside Burr’s hands. He’s close to him, he’s warm and solid. Hamilton has never once seen him tremble. Bellamy had spoken of Burr’s hands. He wonders suddenly if Burr touches him, if Bellamy has felt his palms against his shoulders with fewer barriers. “maybe i want to know. Maybe i wish to trade letters with you.” He grins.

“What for? We are in the same camp, Hamilton.”

He shrugs, he has an answer but the words are heavy on his tongue, so he revises them. Burr only frowns at him in confusion. “Maybe I wish you would bestow the same sweet words on me as you do your old friend.” Burr’s expression shifts, like liquid beneath a thin layer of ice. He opens his mouth to reply, and when no sound comes out closes it again. Hamilton makes himself smile. “Well, i’ve done my duty. I’ll see you at breakfast, yes?”

“Hamilton–”

He lets the tent flap close behind him before Burr can call him back, and thinks viciously that if this is going to be a war of words, then he’s going to come out on top.

To He who is prominent in all things, including my heart;

I long to know you in a way the spoken word does not allow. Indulge me, dear friend. Let us exchange letters, so that I might feel closer to you. Proximity in camp be damned, since it only seems to tear us further apart. It leaves an ache in my heart to see you off every morning, and every night, and have nothing of you all the hours in between.

So I beseech you again, my friend, write to me, so that I might hold some part of you with me when we cannot be near. So that I might speak to you through ink and paper and hear your words in my ears over again. So that i might know what lay between your words and your hand.

Yours faithfully,

A Hamilton


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pokemon go au

There’s a growlith nearby, and he wants it. Alex is fairly sure he’s been wandering the neighbourhood for months, his water bottle is empty, and he forgot to put on a hat, but he wants this fucking growlith so–

“Watch out!” Strong fingers grip his elbow and yank him back onto the sidewalk just as a taxi leans on the horn and zooms passed, and he stumbles and falls back into someone’s shoulder. “You okay? The game comes with a warning you know? Be more aware in commercial areas.” Alex turns to face his saviour fully.

He doesn’t think he’s ever once been speechless before in his life but meeting a literal angel is as good an excuse as any. “Thank you,” he manages when a brow lifts curiously and deep dark brown eyes consider him coolly. “I don’t know what i was thinking really i just wanted the growlith and i wasn’t looking where i was going at all, you know?” For a second his saviour blinks at him as though he doesn’t understand.

“Growlith? There’s one outside the seven eleven. The one with the pokestop right across the road.” He points in the opposite direction. “I just caught one so–”

“You play too? What team are you on, how many pokemon have you caught, did you know there’s an eevee name hack–”

The angel smiles thinly at him, the pained expression of someone who would rather be doing something else. Alex bites his lip and tries not to vibrate with the words still waiting to be said. “Team instinct. Lemme guess, you’re team valor?”

“How’d you know?” Alex beams. He waves his hand airily as though it’s an answer, implying a million things, and tucks his phone into his pocket, awkwardly rocking back on his heels in the universal i want to leave gesture. But Alex doesn’t want him to leave. “My names Alex. I’m so embarrassed I nearly became another stupid statistic.”

“I’m Aaron. It’s okay. I nearly fell into the same pothole twice until i figured out not to multi task.” He seems to think a minute and offers a soft expression, and extends his hand. “If you want, i can take you to that growlith and we can maybe stop in the seven eleven.” his smile widens, turns warm. Alex thinks he’s going to melt. “I’ll save you from becoming a statistic.”

Alex smiles back, takes his hand. His palm is warm and dry and gentle. “That’d be nice.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black Swan Verse

Laundry day is Alex’s favourite: quiet Sunday mornings where even New York seems sleepy. Together, he and Aaron strip the beds without speaking much except to grumble good mornings and kiss each other half awake, white linens landing on the floor like clouds. Aaron wakes Theo and drives her to her french class at the local community center. Without the two of them, the apartment is briefly eerily quiet until Alex turns on some of Aaron’s stupid soft jazz.

Alex packs away the laundry. He gathers Theo’s neatly sorted lights and darks, to put them with her father’s equally neat lights and darks. Alex keeps his laundry in a knot,and even then sometimes he can’t be bothered to sort, much to both Burrs’ chagrin. He starts the laundry and idles in the laundry closet with a book until Aaron comes back home, and Theo locks herself in her room.

Aaron makes his way to the little closet and shuts them both in. The air is still, smells of laundry detergent and dryer sheets. Aaron’s breathing is quiet against his neck. The washing machine rattles loudly. They look at each other. Aaron’s eyes are so deep and brown and fathomless, Alex could spend hours describing them and still say nothing at all. Alex dog ears his page and sets his book aside, slides his barefoot over Aaron’s knee.

Then their lips are pressed together. Aaron used to be so cautious when they first got together. he feared inappropriate behaviour, hated even the thought of Theo walking in on them, and a million other insecurities twisted with memories of his dead wife and his lonely daughter that Alex had to tiptoe around, had to learn to be tactful about, had to ask to touch and ask to stay over, until he didn’t.

Now Aaron locks them in closets and steps between Alex’s spread legs on the washing machine and leans up on his tiptoes, his palms warm and eager on his thighs, sliding to his waist and pulling him to the edge of the washing machine to get him closer, like he missed him, even though they saw each other an hour and a half ago. He likes Aaron’s slow kisses best; the way he breathes against his mouth, warm lips working his gently, tongue sliding out as though he only wants a little taste. Their  kisses don’t go any deeper than that, and it’s sweet and sleepy and perfect.

“Daddy!” Theo calls from outside, knocking twice. “The dryer is beeping and it’s almost time for lunch.”

They snap apart, breathing laboured, the dryer’s beeping loud in the contained space now that they’re paying attention. Aaron’s eyes are wide, and Alex has to stifle a helpless giggle behind his hand while Aaron presses his face into his chest to slow his breathing, fingers slapping out to shut the dryer off. “Be right there, apricot.” He calls back.

“You only call her apricot when you feel guilty,” Alex reminds, just as Theo calls back, “Apricot? What did you do? Did Alex ruin my pink dress?” And Alex has to press his mouth to Aaron’s forehead to keep from laughing harder.

“No, Alex did not ruin your pink dress.” Aaron calls patiently through the door. His cheeks are hot, Alex can feel it, and he ghosts more kisses all over his face because he loves when Aaron is starry eyed and flustered. “That was one time. Are you ever going to forgive him.?”

“No.” She answers firmly.

Alex can’t stop laughing anymore, and Aaron’s going to combust. “You get the laundry.” Alex graciously tells him, slipping off the washing machine and moving out into the hallway, letting in a cool rush of air. Theo stands just outside, arms crossed and foot tapping, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the adults in her life. “You and me are gonna get lunch, my fuzzy little apricot.” He chases her into the kitchen so Aaron can die of embarrassment while folding the whites.

“I’m starting to believe you really did ruin my pink dress you know,” she says, then narrows her eyes at him shrewdly. “If you did ruin it, can I have pizza for dinner?”

Alex ignores Aaron’s muffled denial from the laundry closet. “Tell you what. Why don’t we have pizza for dinner anyway, and you’ll forgive me for the last dress I ruined?”

“You have yourself a deal.” They shake on it, and Alex drops a fond kiss to the top of Theo’s head. In the laundry closet, Aaron gives a low disgruntled moan of anguish, and Alex picks up the phone because, hell, why not pizza for lunch too?


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> canonverse, Non-Stop era?

“I can’t imagine leaving my home.” Burr murmurs in a rare moment of reflection. His fingers are gentle in Hamilton’s hair, stroking absentmindedly and gazing at the ceiling. His breathing is slow and rhythmic beneath Hamilton’s ear. Where is expression is always a placid ocean on a windless day, his breathing alone is a hurricane. 

It’d be easy enough, Hamilton doesn’t say, if leaving were the only option. But Burr is trying to be kind. “I’ve grown to think of New York as my home.” he says instead, tracing words on Burr’s skin.

“Is there anything you miss about it?”

My mother, Hamilton doesn’t say. My home, my people, my brother. “Mangoes.” He replies like he didn’t think about it at all. Burr chuckles fondly at him, warm and kind, and Hamilton doesn’t want to spoil this softness with melancholy. Burr rarely asks about him, rarely takes the time or makes the effort to care. And even if he did ask, Hamilton himself would rarely answer. “I miss climbing trees in summer, mangoes so big and ripe the skin falls off beneath my fingers, sucking the seed, strings of fruit between my teeth, juice all over my hands and face, sweet as nectar and twice as thick.”

“And the heat? The ocean?”

“I miss those too, especially in winter.” Hamilton concedes. “But mostly I miss mangoes.”

Burr hums and remains quiet for a long time, breathing so slow Hamilton almost believes he’s fallen asleep. Then, “Tell me more about it. About where you came from.” He looks a little dreamy when he speaks again, gazing at the ceiling. “I’ve never really left the states, though I hope some day to visit Europe. See France. Tell me about other places.”

Hamilton thinks, and really he would rather lay here in peace, warm and sated, old memories buried in the past where they belong, where the ghosts can’t grip at his ankles. But when has he ever seen Burr look so wistful, and when will he see it again? Are a few ghosts not worth an open look of curiousity? “The breath off the sea was warmer than here. The air settled in your lungs like a cat curled to sleep. Everything was yellow light and lush green leaves and blue spray of water.” Hamilton pauses, remembers. Burr isn’t looking at him, his eyes are closed as though he’s trying to taste his words. He sighs and continues. “I measured the seasons by fruits, when the coconuts were young so you could drink the water, when the sugar cane was soft so you could chew it, when mangoes were so heavy and ripe in the heat so you couldn’t step under a tree without stepping on a mango.”

Burr barely hums in reply, and Hamilton is sure now he’s dozing, dreaming of warm Caribbean Isles. “And that’s what you think of most of all, when you think of your old home?”

No, Hamilton doesn’t say. He thinks of a hurricane, and the kind warm ocean turned vicious, sweeping away everything he ever knew, rain and howling wind and the ruined detritus of his town while he stood in puddles of the retreating water, soaked but damnably alive. While everything was washed away, there he stood in the eye of the hurricane. Alive.

“Mostly,” He answers. “I miss mangoes.” 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some kind of road trip modern au

Aaron’s eyes are drooping, both hands fixed on the wheel. Alex is talking. He’s been talking for the past five hours, and Aaron’s responses have gotten progressively shorter, slower, reduced now to sleepy hums of acknowledgement and not much else. Alex’s talking, meanwhile, has taken on that loopy quality it gets when he’s tired.

“I just find descriptively labelled things suspicious, you know?” He rambles, feeling the wind on his fingertips as he loops his hand idly in the cool summer night beyond the car. Aaron hums, looks both ways, and flicks on his signal. There’s no one else on the country road, it’s four in the morning, but hes anal that way. “Like look at that. Restaurant!” He gestures wildly at the sprawling building like a growth on the side of the highway, blinking neon sign with one letter missing the only sign of life. “Restaurant of what? With what? Should I expect vegan gluten free food or do you only serve egg salad sandwiches and coffee? Should I expect human meat? Are you a cannibal restaurant?”

“Alex, please observe the part of america we’re in, and then tell me if you expect to find gluten free food anywhere?” It’s the most words Aaron has said for an hour, and Alex perks, more alert. Truth be told he doesn’t know where they are. State lines started to blur about fifteen hours ago, into rest stops and water bottles, twinkies and the chicken sandwiches Aaron brought. They left New York behind and the world narrowed to mix cds, highway exits and Aaron’s hand on the back of his neck, palm warm, and his hand on Aaron’s thigh, thumb rubbing teasing circles over the time worn cotton of his sweat pants.

“Seeing as we are definitely the plot of a horror movie right now, I’m putting my money on cannibal restaurant.” He grins.

Aaron’s brow is furrowed, glaring at the road, the flickering yellow lines in the glow of the headlights, dashboard glowing blue on his downturned mouth. He turns off at the next exit, follows the glowing sign aptly named motel, and nothing else. There, they will ask for a room with two beds, and carefully not touch in the receptionists sight, because the only thing worse than being ethnic in the south is being gay and ethnic in the south. They will shower together using the shitty complimentary soaps, they will crash into one bed and turn on the infomercial channel to fall asleep to.

It’s a shitty reality and Alex doesn’t want to wake up just yet, from the smell of smoke and cologne on Aaron’s sweater and the sea breeze filling the car, his feet up on the dashboard and the weight of a book on his belly, music in his ears, the night so loudly oppressive around them. They are freer in this car. They are freer now than they’ll ever be again and it’s beautiful and terrifying.

He wonders if Aaron is thinking all the same thing, beneath that quiet mask of pensive sleepiness, or if Alex is just so tired even his thoughts have spun wildly out of control. But he wants to capture the moment, he wants to know.

“Hey. Pull over.” Alex says suddenly, tugging Aaron’s wrist.

“Why, we’re almost there–”

“Just pull over.”

Aaron does. The motel sign glows in the distance, but there is pitch black silence all around them. “Alright.” he says, putting the car in park. “What’s wrong, are you feeling sick again–” Alex pulls Aaron close by the neck of his sweater, slots their mouths together midword. His mouth tastes like coffee and powdered donuts, this close he smells like the rental car and the faded floral notes of his cologne. He sighs out a pleased noise, Alex’s beard tickles and rasps against his lips, soothed again by the swipe of his tongue.

“Hey.” Alex whispers when they pull away, eyes bright. Aaron’s eyes are stars and wells both, and he leans forward to press a kiss to either temple. “We’re gonna meet up with our friends, we’re gonna party all night long, we’re gonna bake on the beach. It’ll be fun.”

“Sure.” Aaron sighs softly, resting their foreheads together. “But next time, we fly.”


	15. I'm shit at throwing pokeballs and you always get extra points on your nice throws

“Come here you little weed!” Alex hisses. He’s down to his last eight pokeballs, Aaron observes blandly, slurping on a jumbo freezy that is more syrup than ice. “Just- Get- In- The fucking- Ball!” He’s losing to a bellsprout, Aaron continues to observe, tipping the long plastic tube up to get the very last of the syrup. His tongue is between his teeth,his brows are furrowed in concentration, he’s even taken off his stupid aviators so he can see the screen, which means he means business, and the dopey looking bellsprout just dances around his wildly flung pokeballs.

“Here.” Aaron holds out his hand. 

“No, I’ve got it, I can do it, I can catch the stupid –”

“Just gimme the phone.” Alex pouts and reluctantly hands it over. Aaron holds it up, waits a moment, and tosses the pokeball with a casual flick of his thumb. _nice!_ the little yellow caption says. The pokeball blinks for a second, then rests still, little stars congratulating him on another pokemon catch.

“How the literal fuck did you do that?” Alex demands. Aaron shrugs and passes his phone back to him, and checks the progress on the egg he’s hatching. Three more kilometers to go. He hopes he gets a clefairy or a chansey or something.”No I’m serious what the fuck? You didn’t even look at it! You got extra points and everything how?!”

Aaron just shrugs again. “Lucky throw.” he says, and looks around the park for a trash can.

“That is bullshit. Teach me your ways.” he grabs Aaron around the waist before he can get up, pinning him to the park bench before clambering all over him. His sharp chin digs into his chest painfully, his eyes are puppy dog soft and wide, the half pleading look he gets when he wants something he can’t have. “Or, you can just catch my pokemon for me.”

“That’s cheating.” Aaron replies dryly, adjusting them both so the arm of the bench doesn’t dig so painfully into his back. “I thought you were above stuff like that.”

“Is this the face of someone who gives a shit? I just got humiliated by a fucking bellsprout with barely 50 CP.” Alex grouses, settling on top of Aaron even more heavily. 

“Stop sulking.” Aaron’s battery is dying. There’s a meowth nearby and he wants to go get it, but despite the unforgiving park bench and Alex’s pointy joints, he’s sort of comfortable. Alex pouts even harder. “Fine. I’ll catch your pokemon for you. but you have to promise to buy all my coffee from now on.”

“I already buy all your coffee.”

Aaron gives a one shoulder shrug. “Then it won’t be such a loss for you.


End file.
